


Red Against Red

by AroWilson



Category: Original Work
Genre: Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AroWilson/pseuds/AroWilson
Summary: A poem based around violence of a transgender student at school.





	Red Against Red

Red against red.  
My blood blending with the red lockers as it flew from my mouth.  
My cheek was turning red from the imprint of his fist.  
The kid just turned and walked away.  
He was mumbling about how the tranny deserved it.  
To this day, I've been telling you I'm a boy since the first grade.  
Around here ignorance clogs your ears.  
At this point, I should have been used to it but it made me mad.  
Luckily, I was small and quick so I could run some, but he caught up to me and then I realized that this isn't a thing that should be happening.  
I didn't cry because my ribs were ready to break.  
I didn't cry from the cuts on my face and arm.  
I didn't even want to cry, because he just reminded me that Boys Don't Cry.  
But I cried.  
I cried for your ignorance.  
I cried for the many years of being told 'God' wouldn't love me, for being the boy I was born to be.  
I cried for the years I spent ready to throw myself into a coffin from the fear my family would leave me behind in my pre-dug hole.  
I cried.  
I didn't cry from the pain,  
I hope you realize that.  
I didn't cry from the constant kicks as he reminded me that I was born a girl.  
Yet he'd never do this to a girl.  
I cried because I thought bullying like this was over.  
I was in high school now, living as a happy transgender boy.  
But I was in high school now having to remind this boy, and myself, that I'm still a boy.  
Red against red.  
Red.  
The red lockers at my school.  
The red blood threatening to stain the cold grey floors.  
The red line going down the center of the hallway, which was the only thing I could force my eyes to focus on.  
The red-hot anger the boy and I both had clashing against each other.  
His anger against the unknown.  
My anger against the uneducated.  
Red against red.


End file.
